


"Helping"

by espioc



Series: The Counsel Blues [1]
Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Guidance Counselors, Imprisonment, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of sparklings, Multi, Other, but not really Blurr/Shockwave, sort of though, trying to be counselor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3731683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espioc/pseuds/espioc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz is commissioned to keep the interface slaves calm. And he isn't too fond of his job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Helping"

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a test idea. If anyone wants to see a longer or extended, multi-chapter version of this idea please tell me. Characters will probably be slightly OOC so be prepared.

 

Jazz was a prisoner. He wasn’t used for anything, he didn’t do mine work, they didn’t want any information from him, no one wanted him as an interface slave, no one wanted him as a house servant. He was just a prisoner, hidden underground with many of his colleagues and locked away forever in the dark prison kept alive just so the Autobots could rot in it. It was underground, it was old, and it was falling apart. Much like the Autobot’s themselves.

Two hundred years he’d been trapped in that cell and not a day goes by when he doesn’t think about what went wrong. Because what had gone wrong? Where did the Autobots slip up? Who was to blame? If there was anyone. 200 years trapped in a hole in the wall was a good time to think. It was the only thing Jazz could do. He sat, and paced, and drank the energon he was given, just enough to survive for at least three more days before the supply might be refilled. The amount they got was mediocre, but just enough.

Jazz, unlike a lot of his colleague’s, was considered one of the lucky ones. Lucky for many reasons. One being the fact that he’d kept himself sane for this long. Stuck alone in mostly darkness for 200 years can bend a processor in ways no bot would want to imagine. Jazz was also lucky because he hadn’t been taken away either. He wasn’t a desired catch; he wasn’t a prize to be picked by the victors. He was just another bot that had been conquered.

Jazz remembered when others were taken away. He remembered watching closely through the dark of his cell as Cliffjumper was pulled from the shadows across the way and dragged to an unknown fate. That was almost fifty years ago now.

Jazz remembered when Bumblebee was chosen. The kid put up a fight, but not much. He’d always half assumed that day would come, but dreaded it all the same. That was almost one hundred years ago now.

What Jazz remembered most vividly, though, was when Blurr was taken. Blurr was the first, and the transfer wasn’t immediate. He used to be in the cell beside Jazz. Guards would take him away almost every night and drag him off. They’d return him hours later covered in dents and burns, energon dripping from his lips and from between his legs as he desperately tried to cover himself up. He would shake and hide in the corner of his cell, hoping they wouldn’t come the next night but always knowing they would. After particularly bad nights Jazz would attempt to comfort him from afar. All he had in that prison was his voice, which for many, including Blurr, was good enough. No one had to see Jazz in order to feel his words.

Blurr always fought. He would scream and flail, desperately trying to get them to leave him alone and not carry him back to the monster who called him ‘pet’. The guards were mostly un-phased by his efforts, ignoring the smaller bot as he pleaded with them to let him stay in the cell, anything would be better than returning to Shockwave.

A night came when Blurr didn’t return.

He was the first of many. That was almost 200 years ago now.

Over time, as the years grew longer, the prison grew emptier. Eventually Jazz found himself alone in his sector. The bots beside him, in front of him and above him had all been taken. But not him. Jazz had remained, the one constant in the ever empty cells. He was there, and as far as he knew, he would always be there.

Jazz couldn’t speak for the rest of the prison, though. There could be thousands of Autobots left to rot in their cells, left to drive themselves insane on stale energon and a fear of being taken. Or there could be no one. There was certainly no one left in his sector, and his sector held three hundred. The absences were caused by a combination of slavery and execution. Some people were chosen as slaves, some were not so lucky.

Although, many slaves would say they’d rather have been executed.

As Jazz sat against his wall he kept his eyes on the floor. If he didn’t he would look out at the other cells, and relive the days the others had been taken away. Those were days he preferred not to relive. It had been forty years since the last bot was taken, leaving Jazz alone. After that, forty years had felt like an eternity.

This eternity was almost up.

As Jazz stared at his floor the door to his sector opened and two guards entered. They didn’t say a word as they opened up the cell, took Jazz by the arms and dragged him off. Jazz didn’t fight, despite having not expected ever being taken away.

He was transferred to The Tower. It was just a large building where a majority of the important Decepticons lived.

It felt strange being out of the cell. The cool of fresh metal back below his pedes was nothing new but something that had always been missed. The cells had always been warm, too hot for comfort most of the time. There was barely any light in the cells except that which came from the hallway.

As Jazz entered into the bright hallway, which was still significantly darker than every other building on Cybertron, his vision didn’t take to it well. It was too bright for his tired eyes and he was forced to keep them closed and gradually introduce them to the light. It burned his optics ever still.

As they entered the elevator Jazz jumped at the sound it made. The soft hum as they descended was a sound he never imagined he’d miss so much. After 200 years of nothing but pedes and cries there are sounds one just comes to long for. Whether it be voices or the simple hum of an elevator to ease the audio receptors. Jazz never realized how tense he was until they reached that elevator. At the sound of a soft hum, for one second, the world softened. For a moment Jazz could feel the cool breeze sucking at his circuits as the elevator moved, hear the soft hum of pulleys and wires easing it’s passenger’s up, and he could see. There wasn’t anything to see, but he could see. The dips in the metal where it met and the colors of the guards he stood before. He could see. Until right then, Jazz hadn’t realized just how much he couldn’t before.

When the ride was over Jazz’s soft thoughts were pushed back into the real world. He was shoved out and into another hallway, this one much brighter than the last. He was quickly transferred to another elevator. This one’s hums were not so sound, but simply a reminder that he was going somewhere that wasn’t his cell.

Jazz grew fearful for a moment before calming himself. He never assumed this day would come, but now that it’s here he just had to face whatever fate lay on the first floor.

He eventually made it to The Tower, still unsure about what his fate was exactly. Not too many rumors get spread in a cell block with no one in it. Jazz was practically blind to whatever went on top side. All he knew was the people in The Tower didn’t take a prisoner so it could be executed. They took it so it could be _used._

Jazz didn’t like the idea of being used.

When they reached the desired floor Jazz was set before a door that opened at the guards command.

When he entered he was not expecting the sight before him. He turned his head away instantly, unwilling to gaze upon how his former comrade was being used. He hadn’t seen him for 200 years, their first reunion shouldn’t have to be like this.

Blurr bounced in his master’s lap, a spike digging deep into his valve as tiny gasps escaped his lips. Shockwave pinched the smaller bots aft. Blurr removed himself from the spike and climbed from the berth, standing obediently beside it while Shockwave went about his business.

“Jazz,” stated the larger bot, approaching the former Elite Guardsman “I have heard much about you. I’ve heard you can help us with a small dilemma we’ve been facing here recently in the tower.”

Jazz did not reply. He had nothing to say to the Decepticon holding his friend captive in such a way. Anything he did have to say would get him executed.

Shockwave continued “We wish to employ you. We, being those who own interface slaves. It is not always easy keeping them in check, you know, some still manage to fight back on occasion.” Shockwave wanted the bot to respond but knew that he probably would not unless told to do so “I give you permission to speak freely.”

Jazz remained tight lipped for a moment before he could not help but ask “What do you want me to do?” his voice came out with static, small and stale from lack of use. He hadn’t spoken in years. There had never been anyone to speak to.

“I would like you to keep the slaves calm.” Shockwave answered.

“Keep them from fighting back.” Jazz was almost surprised at how quickly he could think after never having to reply for so long. He couldn’t say having his first conversation in years with Shockwave was any sort of delight.

“Precisely.” Shockwave continued “You seem to have a certain influence on them, you are one of the few bots they will listen to with little question.”

“Because they trust me you think I can convince them to keep calm and continue to satisfy you?” Jazz spat, disgust hinting through his otherwise stoic tone. 200 years in a cell had changed him less than he thought. Apparently 200 still wasn’t a very long time.

“Yes. You will speak with them, you will be a place of comfort, a bot they can go to to vent, keep them calm when they are dragged away, convince them that everything will be alright.”

“What makes you think I would do something like this? It would be lying to them, throwing my colleagues into the gates of hell. I would never betray my own bots like that, not for everything in all the worlds.”

Shockwave was prepared for this answer. He leaned down slightly, looking Jazz right in the eye “Do you know what happens to uncompliant slaves?” he asked in a low tone.

Jazz’s jaw clenched. Shockwave continued “They are terminated,” he concluded, answering his own question “We have no need for bots who constantly fight us. It would be better for all of you to simply comply. But many don’t seem to understand that, we’ve had to eliminate several bots already. With you here, however, that number would decrease significantly. Without you, though, I would assume that the number of casualties will go up, and nobody wants that, now, do they?”

Jazz remained silent. He did not want to agree with the Decepticon, but he also knew that a part of the statement was correct. Jazz just had to decide which was better, death, or _this._

Neither option was particularly desirable.

Shockwave leaned away, seeing that his point had been made “You have three days to decide.” He announced “You will not get a second opportunity to take the deal.” Shockwave made a motion, deeming he was finished and the slave could be sent back to it’s cell.

“I’ll do it,” Jazz agreed as guards took hold of his arms “I’ll be their—counselor. But I have one condition.”

Shockwave turned to the slave “You are in no position to have conditions,” he stated “But lets see what you have to say.”

“All I want is their safety. You need to promise me that anyone in my care won’t be terminated while I’m doing this.”

Shockwave let out a stiff ‘hm’ turning fully to Jazz “Fine,” he agreed “If that’s what it takes. Such terms are simple enough.” Shockwave put out his hand “Do we have a deal?”

Jazz stared at the hand for a moment, still unsure about all of this. Eventually he put his bound hands out, and shook the Decepticon’s servo.

“Good,” Shockwave drawled out “You will start tomorrow. For now you will be transferred to a new cell within this building.” With that Jazz was dismissed. As he was pulled away Jazz caught a glimpse of Shockwave returning Blurr to the berth and climbing over him. Jazz scowled with disgust at the thought of what Shockwave could be doing. A moment later, however, his disgust turned to despair as he realized what he’d just agreed to.

 

* * *

 

 

Jazz was moved into a cell below the building, furbished with a real berth, with a berth pad and lights. The room was clean and bright but still a cell. It was new territory for him. A real berth was like a dream, one he’d had many times in his earlier days as a prisoner. The first thing he did was lay down. The pad sunk into his metal as he sunk into it. The berth was still stiff and used, but it was softer than stone and rusted metal.

Almost as soon as he laid down he stood up. He looked out into the hallway, which was actually darker than his cell. He sat down on the floor like his body was used to, and he averted his eyes from the dark of the hall but kept them offline mostly. This was what he was used to. Sitting on the hard floor of a cell in the dark. It’s not what he wanted but it’s what he’d had. He couldn’t handle the drastic transition from dark, dank cell block as big as a single berth, to bright, clean cell with room to pace and pace. This cell was significantly larger, but Jazz wouldn’t use it.

Partially because he didn’t want to and partially as punishment to himself for agreeing to what Shockwave had proposed. Now he had a new thing to think about. What in the world did he just agree to? And why?

Was it because he wanted to protect his fellow Autobots, or see them? Were his reasons selfish or noble? He couldn’t answer those questions, and nobody else would. So he sat and thought about it. Because even though he’d been moved, and even though he had more to do, all he could really do, and continue to do,

Was think.

 

* * *

 

  

Jazz awoke still on the floor. He didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep, but didn’t care too. It took his optics a moment to adjust to the light. His offline optics were still used to awakening in darkness. To have them in light was new, and it hurt, but it remained refreshing. He was awoken by the sound of guard voices raging in his audio receptors. He was pushed awake along with the voice. Before his eyes could adjust to the light he was pulled to his feet and shoved through the cell door.

A softer voice stopped the haste and took over where the guards left off “There is no need for that,” Said Shockwave, approaching the downed bot “He will go without question.” The larger bot took Jazz by the arm and lifted him to his feet “Now come along,” he demanded in a low tone “I will show you to your office.”

“I have an office?” Jazz questioned, his voice barely above a whisper as it still struggled to find itself fully.

“Of course,” Shockwave drawled “What? Did you believe you would be taking patients in your cell?”

The fact that this beast referred to them as “patients” nearly disgusted Jazz. He kept his mouth shut, however, seeing no reason to fight the mech before him. There was nothing to say that would matter now, no questions he could ask or points he could acknowledge. He walked in silence, following Shockwave to the elevator and into the tower. They stepped out a few floors below where Jazz was taken the day before. He was left by his lonesome in an office, furbished with a single couch and a single chair set across from each other with a short table in between them. The back wall was all window, letting in a significant amount of light. It gave the room a calm feel as it brightened the already white walls, contrasting well with the dark blue couch and chair.

The air in the room was sweet. It was a strange transition from the hallway to this room. It felt pure and clean while the rest of the tower was used and stale. The room was new, Jazz could tell.

It felt wrong though.

The lights were too bright and the scene was too calm, too serene almost. It was a pure room where un-pure thoughts and confessions would smog up the sweet air. Jazz was supposed to be the filter. He was supposed to be the sponge that kept the tension out of the air. He was supposed to be the voice that cut through the smog, like it had cut through prison walls, and flip the processor of whoever came into his “care”. It was not what Jazz wanted to be but it was what he’d suddenly turned into.

He went and sat on the chair across from the couch on the right hand side. There was more room behind him than there was the patient’s seat. The couch was set right before the door. If an owner came to reclaim their “property” there would be nothing between them and the slave. Jazz had to assume that was on purpose.

As he sat and studied the walls he noticed that they weren’t white, but blue. A very light blue, barely noticeable unless one paid attention. Jazz stared at the wall for a moment and almost reveled at their color. He’d missed colors. He stood from the chair and looked out the window. He stared openly at the bright city, reflecting sunlight off of sparkling buildings, built anew by Megatron.

While no one cared to admit it, Megatron had made a difference. He seemed to bring back the light, even if it was through less than desirable means. “The ends justifies the means” as Megatron always said, the only words from humans he ever found useful.

This world was not perfect, though. Jazz’s new position was evidence of that. Perfect worlds were near impossible, and Jazz had stopped hoping for one a very, very long time ago.

He looked around the office for a moment, studying the small room until he’d picked up every detail. Sitting atop the small table between the furniture was a data pad for him to write on. It was there so he could take notes on his “patients”

Jazz quickly came to realize that this life would be much different than the life in his old cell, but still harbored similarities that were, apparently, inescapable. One such similarity was his lonesome. He’d been left alone in a cell with nothing but guards for forty years; he would now be left alone in an office, and a cell, with nothing but guards and patients for who knows how long. There were more people, true, but still barely any. Jazz doubted he could leave this room while working and he was certainly not allowed out of his cell. Everything had changed but still remained the same.

He sat around for nearly two megacycles, falling into recharge and waking himself up. He doodled on the data pad but almost immediately erased it. He sighed, but made no other sound. Eventually, for comfort, he sat in the furthest corner of the room, where light barely touched, and closed his optics.

The light still took a bit of getting used to. It was beautiful and had been missed, but it stung and took longer than usual to enjoy again. For a half hour he stayed like that in the corner, until the door creaked open and he hopped to attention. He stayed behind the wall, separating the door from the rest of the room, and concealed himself until an argument taking place at the door subsided.

“This is stupid,” Said someone, a voice Jazz barely recognized “Why am I here, I don’t need this, I don’t want this. Take me back to the room, I’d rather be locked in the training area than be here.” The quick speech pattern was highly identifiable, and the soft slow voice that came next cemented Jazz’s assumption of who it was he’d be dealing with.

“Darling, quit your whining. I will not be so kind later if your refuse to vent in this facility. I need you calm so that you will quit whining and feed the sparkling again.”

“I’m not feeding your little beast.” The slave protested before he let out a soft scream upon being shoved into the room “Yes, you will.” Proclaimed his master, before shutting the door behind him and leaving Blurr with the new counselor.

Jazz stepped out from his hiding place and was blanking on how to greet his former comrade. Blurr seemed to be at a loss as well.

“It’s…been a while.” Blurr finally spit out , his speech much slower than normal “…How’s it…going?” he asked weakly, avoiding eye contact.

Jazz cocked his head to the side, studying his former Autobot. Blurr was dull. His paint seemed to have thinned and his Autobot symbol was missing. There was a small crack in his windshield and he seemed smaller, more petite. The former racer rubbed his wrist in discomfort and kept his Optics glued to the ground. He frame was covered in small dents and scrapes. The metal and mesh of his legs, especially between them, was scratched and torn, worn out and exhausted, just like the rest of him. Blurr looked tired. He looked defeated, scared and angry. His body was drawn in constantly, his legs drawn together while one hand grasped his arm or wrist, keeping his arms in close.

Jazz took a step towards Blurr and the blue bot flinched, to Jazz’s surprise. Jazz wanted to touch Blurr for some reason, he wanted to feel a dent, he almost wanted to see if the bot before him was even real. He didn’t touch him though. He made no attempt. Jazz became fully aware of how Shockwave had conditioned Blurr over the years. The monster had made him fear advances, made him fear touch.

“I guess we’re supposed to talk,” Started Blurr, halting the silence “That’s why Shockwave brought me here, although I don’t know what it is exactly we’re going to be talking about. I already know everything that’s wrong with me and I doubt I need to talk to you to figure that out.”

Jazz was taken aback slightly at the sound of his friends voice. He’d heard it between the wall a moment a go, but to have Blurr actually speaking to him again was so strange. He’d assumed he would never hear any of his colleagues voices again “Yes,” He confirmed shakily after a moment “We’re here to talk. I’m supposed to…give you counsel.” It felt strange having those words slip from his lips. He didn’t know how to counsel people. He didn’t know how to tell his fellow Autobots that being raped was “okay” because it wasn’t. He didn’t want to tell them that, he didn’t want to try and convince them that what had been occurring was alright, that everything was normal and they should go peacefully to the berth.

“You don’t need to lie, I know what I’m actually here to do,” Blurr stated, making his way to the couch and sitting down “I heard your conversation yesterday. I’m sorry, by the way, that you had to see that.” His voice grew smaller at the end of the sentence.

Jazz sat in the chair across from him.

“Why did you take this position Jazz?” asked Blurr, with a sigh “What did you think you’d be doing? Saving us? From what?”

Jazz kept his optics low “I wanted to help you. I didn’t want you all—to go offline.” Jazz admitted, shamefully.

Blurr shook his head “And you thought _this,_ what we’ve been doing, would be better than being offline? I know what you’re here to do, you’re here to tell us it will be okay, to get on the berth and ignore it…I don’t know why I’m here, I come willingly. I have to. I don’t have the option of death, I wish I did, but Shockwave won’t get rid of me, he likes me too much.”

Jazz became curious and began to do his job in a different way than originally intended “I heard something about sparklings,” he started “Could that be why he’s brought you in?”

“I can only guess. Primus knows why he allowed me to have this one. I didn’t even want it and he’s forcing me to nozzle feed.” Blurr’s face twisted in disgust before quickly loosening in thought of things past. He didn’t say anything for a moment, giving Jazz the opportunity to study his posture again. Blurr sat hunched over with his arms incased in his lap and his legs crossed. He was withdrawn, barely looking at Jazz but instead keeping his optics on the couch cushion. Jazz could tell that Blurr tried to remain almost proud with how he spoke, but every other aspect of his posture drew a bot who was ashamed, scared and sad. Blurr didn’t want to look at Jazz. He didn’t want to see if Jazz was judging him or not. He continually pretended that ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t see me’ applied when he just wasn’t looking, because he wanted to pretend Jazz couldn’t see what he’d become. He didn’t want him to.

“Has this happened before?” asked Jazz, pulling Blurr back to reality.

“Shockwave gets me checked for Sparklings once a week.” Blurr said quietly, pulling himself in “In the years he’d had me I’ve been sparked sixteen times…He’s always gotten them removed until the last one. She’s only six months old,” Blurr started to shake, his once heavy words now weak as he admitted something he hadn’t even told Shockwave yet “I’m sparked again,” he spit out “And I don’t want it, but I have been for almost two months now. I’ll start to show soon but Shockwave won’t check me because we just had one…I don’t want to get it aborted,” He admitted “But I don’t want it either. I can barely deal with the one we have.” He stopped shaking and took a deep breath, calming himself “Interface hurts…and I know all you can do is tell me to ignore it, but I’m tired of ignoring it.”

Jazz was at a loss for words. He had nothing to give this bot, no words of wisdom or anything he could spit out, would change anything. He decided for now that the best thing he could possibly do is try to convince Blurr to feed the sparkling. Everything else was lost on him.

“Why won’t you feed it?” he asked, causing Blurr to almost look at him

“What?” asked the former speedster.

“Why don’t you feed it? I believe the first step in trying to accept this new sparkling is accepting the first one.”

“How can I possibly do that when it’s Shockwave’s!” Blurr half raged, untangling himself slightly and finally looking at Jazz.

“Distance it from Shockwave,” Jazz answered immediately “That baby isn’t his. He didn’t carry it around for months, he isn’t in charge of taking care of it. It’s yours, and you’re it’s Carrier, Shockwave’s got nothing to do with it. Think of _that,_ think of the fact that it came from _you,_ not the mech who put it there in the first place. He doesn’t matter.”

“But he does matter…”

“He doesn’t have to. As far as I can tell, you and Shockwave—you can talk to him pretty freely, right?”

“Mostly-”

“Use that. My friend, you have got a lot more going for you than a lot of sorry bots in this building. Shockwave wants you to take care of this thing, but you’re choosing not to. You’re fighting back. Now stop fighting the feeding, and start fighting the Sire. It’s your baby, you’ll take care of it, but you make the decisions. How much work do you really think Shockwave is going to put into that sparkling?”

Blurr thought for a moment “none,” he answered weakly “But why are you telling me this? This isn’t what you’re here for. You’re here to tell me to get on the berth and shut up. If they find out you’re giving me “family” advice, you’ll lose your position. I suggest you stick to what you were hired to do.” Blurr suggested, turning his head away again. Jazz had lost him. He’d had him, and now he’d lost him.

“I was “hired” to keep you willing,” Jazz started, gaining Blurr’s attention again “And the way I see it, in order to do that, I need to keep you sane. I need to keep you happy.” As Jazz spoke he figured it out “They know that too. They’re well aware that a sane, happy slave is a more willing one…That’s why they chose me to do this--” he paused, sure of his last statement but almost unwilling to say it “That’s why they kept me in that cell for so long.”

There was a short pause before Blurr spoke “So you could be prepared,” he said quietly, then looking up at his friend, and for the first time during the session, looking Jazz in the eye “Tell me Jazz, tell me honestly—where would you rather be right now? In a cell, in the berth, or in the ground?”

It was hard question to answer, one Jazz decided to opt out of “I’m here to help you,” he started “I’m here to keep _you_ out of the ground, and in the berth, because right now those are your only two options. What I’m doing and where I’m going…that’s—that’s not important.”

Blurr leaned back, loosening his body significantly “You really just want to help don’t you?” he asked, looking at Jazz now that Jazz wasn’t looking at him.

“I-” started the contemplating bot “am you’re sanctuary—you are safe-with me.” it came out surprisingly smooth, and halted all movement within the room.

Blurr checked his internal clock “I can’t believe it’s already been a half hour…Shockwave will be back to get me soon.” Blurr stood and headed for the door, leaving Jazz to sit alone. Blurr stood by the door for a while. He was done talking, and feared that sitting on that couch would prompt him to say more. There wasn’t any more he wanted to share for now. There wasn’t anything he thought to be worth sharing. So he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, legs together, and stared at the door, while Jazz stared blankly at the table.

Blurr broke the half comfortable silence as he heard his master’s pedes approaching the door “I’m sure you’ll get better at this,” he stated in a distant tone, keeping his optic on the door but drawing Jazz’s attention “In time—we all get better at dealing with things in time.” He didn’t say it to reassure his fellow Autobot. His voice held little to no emotion but the hints of sorrow laced in. Blurr did not want this for his comrade, just as he did not want what happened to him for himself. Blurr got the words out a few seconds before his master came to the door. He stared silently up at Shockwave as the large bot slipped a hand on his back and eased him out the door.

Then Jazz was alone again.

He returned to his corner.

And he thought.

He thought about how he was here to help. He wanted to help.

But he was well aware that he couldn’t. He knew he could do nothing. He knew his words were empty. He knew he wouldn’t be helping. But he would keep going. He would keep talking, he would keep comforting, and he would keep “Helping”.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a test idea. If anyone wants to see a longer or extended, multi-chapter version of this idea please tell me.


End file.
